


BR Dump

by deadburritochortles



Category: Broken Reality - Extended Universe
Genre: Gen, No but it's legit just unfinsihed fics, this is litterally drabbles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27962828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadburritochortles/pseuds/deadburritochortles
Summary: I have a lot of BR Wips I'm never planning on finishing leave me alone
Relationships: ...Who knows
Comments: 4
Kudos: 1
Collections: Broken Reality Server





	1. All the Other Villain League Attempts I had

**_September 19th, 22XX, Two Days into the Game of Crowns_ **

**_Somewhere bloody on top of the Shrine_ **

  
It’s a cloudy September day, and it’s been three years since Cryptic’s come to town. Things aren’t exactly…peaceful, in Truth & Consequences. Far from it, in fact.

“…Did the League really do this?” Cryptic mutters. She can’t see it from her vantage point on the Shrine roof, but there’s a sprawling border, lasting about twenty city blocks.

It’s shaped like a crown, and in place of gold, there's pale blue flame, shooting so high up that it could pass for a wall. The buildings that stood in the way of the border are desecrated, and the smoke - thick, almost unnaturally so - and ashes are still hanging in the air. It’s like the creators of the game  _ planned  _ it, like they amped up all the toxins in the charred remains of the buildings to make it harder to breath. 

She can hear Ringleader’s laugh in her head.

_ ‘Struggle all you want,’ She had said, ‘It’ll make this even  _ more  _ entertaining.’ _

It’s hard to imagine that this is the same girl who paraded around in a trash bag.

Sofi nods. “I don’t know how… I mean, I know they’ve been getting more violent.” She winces, and Cryptic understands why. Once upon a time, LOL stood for League of Laundry. Once upon a time, the name was a running joke. Now though,  _ now  _ there’s only one thing that L could stand for.

Lunatics.

“You didn’t think they’d go this far either.”

“Well yeah, why should they? They’re pranksters,” Sofi pauses, looking around warily - it’s been far too long since the last Pulse, and she doesn’t want to be near Cryptic when it inevitably washes over them. “ _ Were _ pranksters, and they never seemed like they had any gain in hurting people, you know?”

“I mean, maybe they’re getting desperate?” Desperate for  _ what _ ? That was the question. The League had seemed content, last time Cryptic had seen them in their natural habitat.

Which, thinking back, was far too long ago.

“Or bored?” 

“They were doing what they did to  _ stop  _ being bored though-”

The Pulse starts anew.

Sofi slams Cryptic’s head into the roof.

The fight continues.

* * *

**_September 18th, 22XX, At the beginning of the Game of Crowns - The_ ** very **_beginning_ **   
**_Shaking with barely suppressed rage and anger by the wreckage of a library_ **

An impish grin stretches across Durple’s face as she finishes explaining the rules for the Game of Crowns. “ _ Sooooo _ , have fun!” 

They almost get away when Cryptic grabs their arm. 

Cryptic has never been  _ lucky _ , per say, but the fact that she isn’t burnt to a crisp by Durple’s friend (bodyguard? When did that happen?) is a damn miracle.

“Why are you guys doing this? I know you guys do more than prank me nowadays, but what the hell?” She isn’t manic, not really, but she’s  _ concerned _ , and it bleeds into her voice. As much as she had wanted the League off her back, she didn’t want  _ this _ . She’ll take the stupid stunts over plain torture any day.

Durple twirls her scepter in her free hand; Cryptic almost  _ reels _ . What happened to the fourteen year old girl in the trash bag? What happened to the plastic crowns? “...Do I know you?” It’s almost a sneer, and isn’t  _ that _ something.

It’s clear that Durple does, as she’s  _ alive _ right now, but it still stings in a way that she didn’t expect. Cryptic sighs, “You already know, don’t you?” 

Durple pauses for a bit, ripping her arm out of Cryptic’s grasp at the same time. “Wait, you’re Cryptic! I  _ know you! _ I’d say we should catch up, but we’ve both got business to attend to, you know?” She starts jogging off, before pulling - was that a fucking  _ revolver _ \- out of her pocket and throwing it at Cryptic’s feet. “But I come bearing gifts! This’ll be helpful if you wanna live - or even win! That’d be fun! Hey, if you do win, we’ll pull a prank, it’ll be just like old times.” The enthusiasm doesn’t go unnoticed by Cryptic - in fact, it slaps her in the face. Durple’s usually like this when she was  _ really _ trying to piss someone off, most of the time because there’s no other reason to practically have stars in your eyes, but it doesn’t seem to be the case this time.

...Huh.

“I...I don’t want  _ that _ .” Cryptic is used to weaponry, of course she is, but the idea of picking up that gun in her current situation is borderline grotesque.

“Ah, and here I thought you would’ve been happy because of our gratitude.”

Court, who had been utterly silent during this conversation - so much so that Cryptic had almost forgotten he was there - casually lights up his fingers.

“You don’t mean that.” There’s a sense of whiplash. The atmosphere is almost oppressive and it’s not  _ supposed _ to be threatening - Court igniting his fingers isn’t bad in comparison to that one time where the milk section of the Shrine got obliterated - but Cryptic  _ knows  _ what this means.

Like many, she’s seen the victims of the League.

They let the world knows when it's one of their crimes - and well, going into detail isn’t top priority, because she’s being threatened with death if she doesn’t take the gun, but let's just say that finding handprints is much easier for investigators if they’re charred into a person's skull.

“Are you sure about that?” They have an expression, one that Cryptic recognizes, one that says ‘ _ You’re wrong, and we both know it. _ ’ She used to seeing that face followed up with something very stupid, and usually irresponsible, but there’s nothing this time. Court genuinely thinks he’s right.

Taking a look at the ornate crown and scepter Durple is carrying, as well as the knives hanging from Court’s belt - clearly for decoration, they all knew he didn’t need them - she wonders what the fuck  _ happened. _

“Well, I think the game can start now! No need to waste your energy killing her.”

Cryptic’s eyes widen. “Wait! Just get rid of the gun first an-”

The Pulse starts for the first time.

Cryptic picks up the gun eagerly.

"Hm." 

* * *

Torture gets bland sometimes, and well Terry isn't one to stick around for blandness. 

She elbows Fool, who's been staring in disinterest - and...a hint of antsiness, actually - gesturing at the beaten body in front of them. It doesn't look like much, but some of the worst torture methods are internal. "Think we're done for the day? Durple's busy with the Game thing she's doing, and I don't even  _ know _ what Tiny and Cipher have been doing, so."

"...I guess." Fool warily looks at the door of the warehouse they're in - and isn't that strange? A  _ wary _ Fool.

"What's up with you? You've tortured people more than I have, shouldn't I be the nervous one here?"

“Well, you know the weather quirk I’m using to make sure it doesn’t rain?”

* * *

  
  


**_Perhaps, they were going somewhere._ **

The League never really had a set of morals, more like they just did as they pleased. If they committed arson, that was their business, plain and simple.

**_November 29th, 22XX, A little under two years before the Game of Crowns_ **

**_Somewhere dim in the back of The League’s old base_ **

Fool  _ never  _ expected to be in debt.

It’s hardly debt, really. Sure, she owes someone money - someone  _ influential _ and damnit did she borrow Terry’s recklessness because she was better than this - but she has multiple contingency plans for situations like this.

The problem was that she couldn’t execute any of them - not any of the moral ones

She throws down the paper. It isn’t necessary, they’ve all already read it, all already know that they’re little more than a joke to the town, but they were okay with that, they had to be. They had never  _ really  _ made any rules, but that was okay, they all knew to not cause too much harm. They didn’t know why they didn’t - perhaps the vestiges of morals from people long gone - but it was just the way of the world.

At least, it was. Then one of them was kidnapped by an ‘actual’ villain.

The newspaper had reported on the incident, but there wasn’t  _ sympathy _ . Because the League was annoying enough to not be missed, but not malicious enough to pose a threat.

They were comedic relief, but the useless kind. If they disbanded, the only person that would probably notice is Catalyst - and she’d be more grateful than anything else.

They all acted like it didn’t get to them, their insignificance, but it  _ did _ . Everyone’s reasons for joining the League varied, 

* * *

(Durple’s trust is broken. She won’t be hurt again.

Entertainment is hard to come by in normal civilian society, and Terry already lost her chance to be a hero, so a villain it is.

Court was told he was a murderer, so that is what he became.

Cipher is tired of making people smile.

Fool...well being a prankster is just rock bottom, and Fool has a drill.

Adrenaline can easily be found in life or death situations, so if Tiny poses as a hostage in robberies, that’s nobody's business but their own.

Traitor’s an informant, of course he’s mixed up in nefarious activities.)  


* * *

“So, why this guy?” It’s quiet in the warehouse - the stolen one, not the wrecked one - besides the manilla folder fluttering open. They go through these motions almost daily: Durple will give Court a mark to hit, he’ll ask why, and she’ll answer vaguely. 

Durple twirls her scepter, and she’s once again reminded of the heist Fool pulled to get it. Fool had only said ‘If you’re a leader, you need to look the part,’ before plopping the glorified stick in Durple’s hands. There was also the ornate crown, but she didn’t wear that outside of missions. “He wronged us.”

They both know it’s not really true, but she says it anyways. It’s the easiest way to ensure that Court gets the job done. He’s loyal to a fault, and has a strong sense of ‘justice’ - revenge, more like it, but that’s nothing if not a benefit. Good right hand man material. 

(Or lapdog material, but they both know that discussing whether they’re still friends or business associates is on the list of restricted subjects - not when they both want to pretend that they’re still good to the people they think  _ deserve  _ it. The whole League likes to act like they’re still the friends that they were when they started the organization, likes to act like they’ve only started being terrible people to others. There is agitation between League members, and they all act like they don’t notice.

To put it simply: They had all been close, at one point, and then they started getting to work.) 

Court nods. “Do you want me to make sure they know it’s us?”

She waves a hand dismissively. _It doesn’t really matter, but why not make his job harder?_ , she thinks. “Make it sloppy, put the crown in the wrong spot.”

“There’s no ‘ _ right’ _ spot, you didn’t specify that the first time when I told you about calling cards and crap.” He sighs, “And I can’t make it look ‘hasty’ unless I use a knife or something and…”

That was probably the only restriction Court had when it came to killing people nowadays; no stabbing. It was a weird rule, and it certainly limited the possibilities, but Durple is nothing if not creative.

“Torture?”

He fiddles with his glasses, “That’s more up Terry’s alley, and I think they’re busy - something about a gang they wanted to catch up with?” He waves a hand, as though trying to swat away the inconvenience, “I don’t know, but I’ll figure something out.”

“Maybe signs of a struggle? Make them put up a fight.”

He starts walking towards the direction of the exits. “Yeah, sure, whatever. See you later.”

“See you tomorrow, be ready.” ‘Tomorrow’ refers to the game they’re planning. ‘Something so utterly evil that the town will respect us.’ That’s what they were going to do, and maybe, if they get the recognition they deserve, they’ll take their freak show elsewhere.

“Bye.” 

  
The doors shut behind Court, and Durple hastily puts on her crown.

An associate was coming, and she planned to be ready when they arrived.

* * *

Terry was indeed busy. She usually was, actually.

Unlike most of the League, she didn’t really have a specialty - she wasn’t one for heists, or murder, or organ dealing, or general entertainment through anarchy. She was what the League represented as a whole; chaos.

The organized kind, of course.

  
She doesn’t hide her distaste for the way Durple’s running this organization - their leader was sixteen for fuck’s sake - they don’t take the time to think things through, jumping into crimes left and right, and dropping them twice as quickly. 

* * *

"I helped myself, I killed the people that were hurting me, so why don't you. Don't look at me like that, I did the right thing, and you should too. Try and kill me, do it! And tell yourself it was self-defense. Don't be a coward and help yourself."

"I don't want to kill people."

"And neither did I, but whoopdeedoo. Protect yourself, don't you want to live? Get yourself out of this situation, you're desperate, right?  _ Right? _ Stab me. Use your quirk. Use your bare hands if you want to. Use cold water when you need to clean them."

"I don't need to protect myself, you're gonna kill me anyway."

He laughs, "That's what I thought, but here I am. You want me to make it easier? I'll make it easier. I'm a murderer, you're not the first person I've killed, you're not the last. You're not more important than most of my other victims, and you're not the least important either. You're inconsequential, even in death."

The man growls.

Perfect.

"Oh, are you  _ mad? _ Do you want to fight me? Then do it coward. Or are you  _ scared? _ Someone tries to hurt you and you're paralysed? C'mon! C'mon c'mon  _ c'mon! _ I'll give you a weapon if that's what you want."

The man lunges.

_ Finally, _ he thinks,  _ Signs of a struggle, check. _

Who needs therapy when you can yell at your murder victims?

* * *

The air smells like...well, it smells like normal - at least Durple thinks so. They got through another chaotic job, and it’s not the overwhelming feeling of victory, but it’s something. Sure, they’ve gone from cyber-bullying to doxxing, graffiti to arson, but it still feels the same afterwards. They all feel slightly proud, there’s the glow of accomplishment, and there’s nothing.

Someone turns on their TV. They used to have a small one, something you’d see in an old, prequirk movie - static and everything. Now they have a flat screen, one that they had to move to their other headquarters just so it’d fit somewhere. They had stolen it for shits and giggles, but they all had to admit that it was impressive. “Another terrible incident today here in Disillusion or Repercussion. City hall has been burned to the ground. Before that though, every single asset in the building had been taken…including those that we have deemed ‘valuable people.’ At least, the police force assumes so. The bodies are still hard to identify afterall.” The news anchor shivers, as if remembering something unpleasant. There’s a round of laughs throughout the League - at least people couldn’t get tired of  _ this _ . 

“Shockingly enough, no state officials were taken, or even any one who works in criminal justice. Business owners were taken, as well as fellow reporter David J…” 

Another one of them pinches their nose, “What are we going to  _ do  _ with those guys?” 

“Kill them? That’d be something new at least.”

“Oh, for  _ you _ at least.” 

“It’s not my fault I’m not a  _ hitman- _ ”

“Oh fuck  _ off _ \- you’re not a hit man because you’re high as a kite half the time-”

“Well at least I don’t turn into a  _ maniac  _ because ‘Did they really deserve it?’” They mimic tears, and Durple pretends she doesn’t know why that’s ironic.

“That’s because you’re literally snorting  _ crack _ , at least I’m fucking  _ helpful _ -”

“Sure you are, keep telling yourself that and maybe it’d be true-”

Durple couldn’t care less for this, for any of them really, but their incessant bickering - it used to be light-hearted, and she used to be a part of it, but that’s neither here nor there - is grating on her nerves. She claps her hands together, “Alright, settle down peasants-”

“Oi,” someone interjects.

She pays them no mind. “We’ll figure this out when we have to. We could always host public executions to get some reaction, if we get bored.”

“Or one at a time, we don’t know if we’ll have any new material-”   
  
“We  _ will _ if we aren’t lazy-”

Durple sighs. She doesn’t even need to hear their discussion, so…she doesn’t. Instead, she turns up the volume of the television, and tunes out her henchmen.

* * *

For the first time in her life, Fool is in a debt that she can’t lie and steal her way out of. This itself isn’t a problem, it’s more the way she’s going to pay off this debt.

To be honest, she wished she got the idea sooner. Fool isn’t greedy, but the idea of how much cash she could’ve made if she had done this earlier is…irritating. Nothing makes her more acrimonious than a lost shot at profit. That’s  _ pragmatism _ , not  _ greed _ .

  
  
  


Everyone else is off doing…things, and Fool sees this as a golden opportunity.

“Lore Keeper, can I talk to you for a second?”

LK looks confused, but relatively calm. “Yeah! What is it?”

Fool casually picks up the baseball bat leaning against the wall, and her comrade hardly flinches. It isn’t unusual for League members to arm themselves spontaneously, and one can seldom find Court, Jester, and Mar without some sort of knife. 

(Actually, those last two aren’t…completely true - Mar’s been scarce lately, and Fool can’t exactly say she’s a reliable source for what they’re doing anymore. Jester doesn’t even use knives anymore, something about their ‘inefficiency.’ An organized, meticulous Jester may be a forced to be reckoned with, but they’re also…well,  _ snobbish _ is one word for it.)

Lore Keeper hums in acknowledgement. “Are we gonna do a hit and run or?”

  
“Sure, follow me.”  _ The further we get from headquarters _ , Fool thinks,  _ the better. _ She doesn’t know if that’s…totally true, actually.  _ Would anyone even care if one of us went missing? _


	2. I think I wrote this at 2 am? Welp, here goes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meh

Other villains never took much of a liking to the League of...L (their name situation  _ still _ had to be figured out). There was the occasional villain that strolled in, needing to talk to Fool or Traitor, but other than that interactions with other villains were scarce.

They got attacked every once in a while, and each time either brought absolute  _ misery _ , a potential ally, or some form of entertainment on slow days.

Today will be focusing on one such incident.

Dream quirks were common in the town of Truth or Consequence (one out of thirty citizens had them, and given the fact that the actual population isn’t and  _ never will be known _ , the citizens decided to call it common), but people with dream quirks who were  _ villains _ are rather rare. To put it simply, one out of ever eighty citizens with dream and dream related quirks were villains.

And of course, out of those villains, one out of twenty don’t exactly… _ appreciate _ the League.

So of  _ course _ the LOL runs into someone in this small, small,  _ small _ demographic.

They couldn’t exactly fight, given the fact that in ten seconds flat, they were all in a deep sleep, being transported to...somewhere.

Terry was the first to wake, and that caused the villain (it’s odd to refer to one person as the villain in this scenario, considering just what the LOL  _ is _ ) to wake the others, announcing something along the lines of “Get up  _ posers _ .” 

Night on a stick, this villain was a fucking  _ gatekeeper. _

The eleven—no,  _ ten _ , Faerie was nowhere to be seen, and they all thank Night that they threw them into a laundry machine earlier (...if that machine was actually an oven they were absolutely screwed)—members of the LOL sit in the barren room they’d all been in after they woke up, discussing what to do.

“Why can’t you just burn the door down?” Fierce suggests.   
  
Court is vaguely disappointed in himself for not thinking of that as soon as he woke up.

“Don’t even think about using your quirks, I gave you suppressants while you were passed out.” says their captor over the intercom (none of them had even noticed it, surprisingly).

He makes a mental note to ask Fool for this person’s heart when all is said and done.

Fool makes a mental note to steal their ribcage for...personal reasons.

“Now that I have your attention, let me introduce myself—though you must’ve heard of me before. They call me Sweet Dreams.” 

“ _ That’s _ a stupid name,” Brass mutters. They pointedly ignore the fact that one of their colleagues is called Fool and another Traitor. 

“No, I haven’t heard of you, but you’ve heard of us. Want an autograph? We’re we your  _ inspiration? _ Always great to meet a fan.” Durple has a shit eating grin on her face.

It’s always a delight to be reminded that she doesn’t need her quirk to piss people off.

Sweet Dreams (dear  _ Night _ their name is  _ oddly _ obnoxious) is  _ thoroughly _ offended, and says, “No, thank you. I don’t want autographs from  _ fakers. _ ”

It’s kind of offensive, calling all their hard work fake, like being a villain was some sort of aesthetic, but they can’t exactly deny that most of their well known group crimes were more flashy than anything else. That wasn’t really something that  _ mattered  _ though, it’s not something they should be  _ attacked  _ for. 

“I’m here to show you what  _ actual _ villains do. We do all we can to try and get media attention, but you guys just  _ turn up _ and replace a mountain—a  _ small _ mountain too—with glitter and  _ suddenly _ you’re all either A-ranked or higher. You guys aren’t villains, you’re hardly even  _ criminals _ .”

Court lets out a snort, and Fool doesn’t even  _ try _ to stop her cackling.  _ Clearly _ they haven’t heard about what any of them did outside the League. Were all of Terry’s past allegations of assault a joke to them?  _ Surely _ they don’t think that the worst they’ve done is just _ prank someone?  _ Is their legacy just poisoning the water supply with edible glitter?

Sweet is silent while the LOL breaks down into fits of laughter, and it takes them a minute to realize that they’re serious.

“Oh you, you-  _ Oh my Night. _ ” Cipher chokes out, still not done dying of laughter.

“This has to be a joke.” Traitor mutters, because  _ really, _ the League has done some stupid things, but it’ll never compare to telling a  _ gang of villains  _ that they _ aren’t criminals _ .

Terry’s laughing so hard that tears are forming in her eyes, “ _ ‘Hardly even criminals.’ _ I- I  _ cannot, _ they-  _ ‘Hardly even criminals.’ _ We have at  _ least _ one bonafide murderer.” 

Fool just takes offense to the fact that someone looked at her and assumed she’s never commited a crime in her life. “Maybe my parents w”

They laugh even harder.

Screw the tapioca pudding spiked with salt, this was the most entertainment the LOL’s had in  _ months. _

“Well, did you do any of that in the League? No, you haven-” Sweet is about to answer their own question when Court cuts in.

“But...we have? I won’t go into detail, but we’ve kidnapped some people,  _ and  _ there’s all the vandalism! We also sell, distribute, and produce—well, we just steal it from the pocket dimension vending machine hybrid  _ thing _ in our bas-” 

Fool coughs loudly, though it sounds suspiciously like  _ Don’t give them  _ all  _ the info. _

“Ah fuck, sorry. But yeah, we committed a  _ lot _ of crimes as a group.”

Sweet makes a noise of frustration, “You know what, no more talking. You guys just need to decide who goes first.”

“First for what?” Brass gets themself together enough to actually  _ respond _ , and it spurs  (wink wink nudge nudge) the rest of the group to do the same. 

“The dreams, of course.”   
  
“Dreams?” Tiny asks.

“I can control dreams, you’ll see.”   
  
No one knows what they mean by  _ you’ll see _ .   
  


They decide that they’ll choose with a game of Concentration, and the first person out has to go first. They didn’t want to choose that way, but any other way would seem like one person is more disposable, or something of the sort, and they can’t just  _ let _ someone sacrifice themselves for that.

Just because someone volunteers, doesn’t mean that they  _ want  _ to do it—they just don’t want  _ someone else _ to.

The topic of the game is chosen by Fool, and despite all the accusations that she’s cheating, they let her carry on.

The topic is famous crimes.

_ Motherfucker. _

“Do our crimes count?” Durple asks.

“Do you think we’re famous?” Fool responds.   
  
“Nope!” Sweet says from the intercom.

They’re clearly contradicting their previous statements, but instead of commenting on that, Fierce shouts, “ _ NO ONE ASKED YOU SWEET DREAMS.” _

“Nice to know I’m appreciated,” they say dryly, clicking off the intercom.

“...Anyways.”

Tiny is the first one out, much to the protest of every single person in the League.

“...If we make Mar do this I’ll sell your bodies on the black market.” Fool says.

“And I’ll gladly let you,” Terry chimes in.

They’ve all decided to do another game, even though Mar  _ insists _ that they just let them do this.

However, before they could start it, Sweet comes up on the intercom again.

“You guys are taking  _ way _ too long, so I already chose for you! You, the one who woke up first, walk up to the door.” All of them are pretty sure that Sweet Dreams knows their aliases, considering how much they seem to hate them, but no one comments on it.

Terry walks to the door.

“Good luck!”   
  
“Don’t die.” 

“She won’t  _ die- _ Come back soon!” 

“You  _ better _ come back.”

“Kill them if you have the chance.” 

“You’ll be fine!”

“We don’t even know their quirk, so you’ll probably be okay!”   
  


“Sorry that he chose you!”

“Just try to stay calm.”

“Make sure to check if your quirk is working Terry, maybe the suppressants wore off.”

That last one’s actually a good idea, and Terry quickly tries to make a clone.

All that happens is a flash of pain behind her eyes and a bout of nausea so strong that she almost stumbles over.

Sweet chuckles over the intercom, “I  _ told  _ you that you couldn’t use your quirk. The door’s gonna open in a second.”

Sure enough, the door opens.

Terry steps through, and it slams shut.

Two minutes pass before anything happens.

Fierce is the first to break the silence, “I know you said you can control dreams, but it gets  _ really _ boring for the ones not sleeping.” 

“ _ Wait, you impatient  _ twats _. _ ” Twats, that was a new one.

Five minutes later, the TV flickers on.

They all scramble to see the screen.

It’s honestly...not all that concerning.

Sure, it’s a bank robbery, but it’s not like Terry hasn’t robbed a bank before.

Court flicks the screen, “...What are we looking at?”

Sweet lets out a booming laugh, “Don’t you see, I’ve placed your comrade in a dream robbery!”

Traitor sighs, “Yeah...we can see that.”

“Of course you vermin,”  _ Vermin _ , nice, “don’t understand, you probably don’t know anything about torture. The fear itself is enough to break anyone down, robberies can be traumatic situations for people. This is  _ true _ villainy, nothing like your simple pranks. Look at the way your friend is looking around, they must be  _ terrified _ .”

It’s very hard to hold back the laughter.

“Yeah,” It takes Fool so much willpower to sound serious when she says this. “Terry’s  _ suffering _ in there.” 

On screen, Terry’s happily walking up to the robbers, saying something along the lines of, “I’ll help you out if you want.”

They can’t hear the robber’s response over the very loud  _ squawk _ Sweet makes.

“Are we still ‘hardly even criminals?’” Traitor asks.   
  


“Yes, you are. Now, I’ll just...change the situation.”   
  


The television glitches out, black spots—like the one you see when you press your fingers into your eyes a little too hard—appearing.

When the TV rights itself, Terry is standing in an alleyway, someone clearly following her.

Durple wishes there was popcorn, this situation certainly called for it.

“A robbery didn’t work, but perhaps being attacked one on one will be worse.”

Terry casually pulls out a pocket knife when she notices the attacker.

“Why does she have a  _ knife _ ?  _ I’m _ the one controlling the dream,  _ why _ does she have a  _ knife? _ ” Sweet seems to be having a breakdown.

A new scene emerges on the television, and everyone watches with varying degrees of amusement, curiosity, and concern as Terry agrees to help someone dispose of a body.

Sweet heaves a sigh, and the television flickers off.

“You win, I’ll wake Jester up, just… _ Night _ , I just wanted to show you guys to stop calling yourselves  _ villains _ and admit that you’re just glorified pranksters.” They’re clearly trying to justify kidnapping all of them.

Fuck  _ that _ .

“That’s...nice.” Traitor says.

Fool slow claps, “Bravo, great.”   
  


Court feigns writing into a calendar. “We’ll meet again next week?” 

“This was fun, we can give you pointers for torture if you want.” Durple looks ready to throw Fool at them when she says that.

Cipher leans against the wall, “Isn’t crime just glorified pranks?”

Sweet makes a choked noise over the intercom.

“They’ve got a point,” Brass chimes in.

The door opens, and Terry walks in, keeping the door from closing.

“You guys ready to get out of here?”   
  
“Yep!”

“Yeah.”

“Always have been.”

The League walks out the door.

They’re met with an empty desk, a bed, and a bottle that reads ‘sleeping pills.’

Terry notes their curious glances towards the bottle. “That’s how they got me to fall asleep, I don’t know how we passed out the first time though.” 

No one comments on the slightly hollow look in Terry’s eyes.

They walk out the room and are met with sunlight.

* * *

They’ve finally gotten back to the laundromat, and they’re explaining what happened to Fae when it happens.

The quirk suppressants wore off.

It was so unexpected that Cipher and Durple don’t realize that their quirks activated until it’s too late.

In a matter of seconds, everyone in the laundromat is knocked out.

**_Damnit_ ** .


	3. njfvkjsdkjfd this is actually a finished fic it's just written kind of badly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dbshfjhjs i really said abandoned fics for sale huh

_ Opals: _

The first time it happens, Durple is putting up a sign for recruits, and someone pokes her in the side.

She almost swings the hammer she was using at them, but decides not to.

Murder isn’t her strongsuit, even in a town with such little law enforcement as this one.

“Uhm, do you know where to find the leader of this….” They wave their hands around, seemingly crossed between saying place and thing, but Durple recognizes the poster in their hands automatically.

“Oh, that would be me! Are you interested in joining?”

Their face contorts in confusion.

“I said who the  _ leader _ is? Didn’t you hear me correctly?” Their words are arrogant, but their tone is that of genuine concern and confusion.

Durple frowns. “Yes, I heard you. I’m the leader! It even says it on the poster.” It did indeed say ‘ran by: **_Durple_** ’ on the poster (they had to print in color because of that, even though the rest of it was just black on white with the words “JOIN THE LEAGUE...please? ^-^”).

“...But, you’re just a kid.”

“Yes, but I’m still the leader.”

Fool conveniently, or inconveniently, passes by, holding up her own stack of flyers.

The stranger sees them, and exclaims,”Ah,  _ there’s _ the leader.”   
  
Fool drops every single one of her posters (Durple couldn’t help but wince, they’d spent 10 whole cents printing those out at the library). “Ah, you haven’t found the door to Sjorlvickta, and have therefore failed. Goodbye.”

Durple’s pretty sure there’s no door to Sjorlvickta, but doesn’t ask.

The stranger frowns, and decides against protesting.

“You know, we really have to find a way to get people to know you’re the leader as soon as they see you,” Fool says as the stranger walks away.

Durple sighs.

“We really do.”

* * *

_ Sapphires: _

They’re on one of their first missions, and things are going as smoothly as you can expect from the League.

That is to say, not smoothly at all.

Cipher’s on the ground, muttering something about how they “Should’ve just stayed asleep” and Fool is currently fighting off a rival villain (dear Night they had too many rival villains for a young organization). Terry, Durple, and Court are attempting to fight off the villain that downed Cipher when they hear it.

“We’re willing to negotiate if you’ll bring your leader to us,” the villain fighting Fool says, “You have two minutes.”   
  


Durple’s contemplating whether she should go or not when Court pushes them forward.

“Go on.”

She sighs internally.  _ Sell-out. _

“Well, what did you want to talk about?” She asks. The villain and Fool were still going head to head, but she faintly hears a scoff.

“Did you not hear me?”

Durple chuckles.  _ Déjà vu. _

“Yes, I’m the leader.” She speaks slowly, as though to ease him into the concept.

The villain doesn’t seem convinced, but at least he stopped trying to kill Fool and called off his lackeys.

“Are...are you  _ sure _ ? I mean, that person in the fox mask-”

“It’s a kitsune!” Terry says.

“Yeah, whatever, the person in the  _ kitsune _ mask looks like the leader if you ask me.”

“Night on a bike,” Court mutters, “This is the sixth time this month. We  _ started  _ this month.”

Cipher sighs from her spot on the ground, “Durple, why don’t we just knock them out?”

“...Sure.”

The rest of the members protest, because  _ We’re gonna be knocked out too guys. _

Durple gives them a look, as if to say  _ So? _

Fool sighs, laying down on the sidewalk, “If you’re going to knock me out, let me get comfortable first.”

“We—we’re going to bring you back to the laundromat.”   
  


Fool doesn’t move from her spot on the sidewalk.

* * *

_ Rubies: _

Court slaps the wanted posters onto the table of the laundromat proudly.

“Look what I found!”

“...Wanted posters?” Durple looks at them curiously 

“Wanted posters with  _ bounties _ .”   
  


Fool perks up, no doubt wondering how much she’d get if she turned one of them in—not like she’d do it, it was just a passing thought...hopefully.

“Oh, how much?” Terry’s taking a pizza out of the laundry machine, so they can’t look for themselves at the moment.

“400 each.”

“Dollars? Euros?” It’s not that it  _ matters _ , they aren’t going to be turned in, but Fool would like to know.

For...personal reasons.

“...400.”

There’s a pause.

“One of us  _ is _ 700 though.”

Cipher slides off a washing machine, rubbing her eyes, “Who?”

“You.”

“...Why?”   
  


Durple sighs. “They think you’re the leader.”   
  
“Night on a stick-”

* * *

_ Diamonds: _

There, lying in the dumpster outside the laundromat, is a plastic crown.

Durple finds it fitting for her wardrobe.

At least people stop confusing her for anything other than the leader.


End file.
